Growing Pains
by The Prickly Pear
Summary: As children all the world's a great adventure and it is that adventure, the ups and the downs, which make you who you are. A series of snapshots looking into the childhoods of the LA team.
1. The Boy in the Dinosaur Shorts

_**Title:**_

_Growing Pains_

_**Author:**_

_The Prickly Pear_

_**Genre:**_

_Family/Friendship_

_**Rating:**_

_K+_

_**Summary:**_

_As children all the world's a great adventure and it is that adventure, the ups and the downs, which make you who you are. A series of snapshots looking into the childhoods of the LA team._

_**Author's Note:**_

_So, this is an idea which has been playing around in my head for some time now, a series of one-shots looking into the childhoods of as many characters as I can think of as the ideas come to me. I will try to keep things vague enough that it will remain canon even as the show gives us more information but should something because AU I'll try to put a warning above that chapter. On a similar note, I'll keep the rating at K+ but as the characters get older the odd chapter may have to be rated higher than that, if and when that happens I'll post a warning so there's no need for the kiddies to worry. XD_

_Now, for those of you who have read my other work and are__ looking to better understand my interpretation of each character's history, this is the piece to read. The OCs presented in this piece will reappear in any other story that takes place in what I call the __**Growing Pains**__** u**__niverse. For more information about that, see my profile. XD_

_Oh, one more thing, if you have any suggestions for characters or situations please feel free to let me know!_

_**Disclaimer:**_

_All characters you recognize are the property of NCIS Los Angeles' rightful owners. __This fanfiction is written solely for my amusement, no money has been made whatsoever._

_**Happy Reading!**_

* * *

**The Boy in the Dinosaur Shorts**

**Eric, Age 5**

Kindergarten was a big deal and Eric was excited. He was so excited that his mother had to remind him not to run indoors when they reached the school. So instead he walked next to her vibrating like a mouse on a caffeine high because he was just so very excited and he had to do something! He was going to be at school all by himself, without his mummy and daddy, just like a big kid! And he wasn't scared at all! He was going to make friends and play with toys and make pictures and sing songs and play dress-up and go on the swings and the slides and the playground... It was going to be so much fun and he couldn't wait!

He jumped up and down next to his mother as they continued down the hall, smacking his hands against his thighs and grinning from ear to ear. He was even wearing his favourite shorts today! They were purple and they had dinosaurs on them because dinosaurs were really, really cool! They lived hundreds and hundreds of years ago and now they were all gone! He sometimes wondered if maybe people would be all gone one day but he wasn't worried about it, he was sure the dinosaurs would let him play with them when they came back. His sister had told him all about them, she had a big book filled with stuff on dinosaurs but she said he was too little to read it. That was okay though because after he learned at school he'd be able to read all about them by himself and then he would know more than her!

He was so caught up thinking about his prehistoric friends that he walked right in to the back of his mother's legs as she came to a stop before him, nearly falling over from the impact.

"Ow, Eric watch where you're walking, Honey," she smiled, shaking her head at her son's enthusiasm.

"Sorry Mum!" the boy replied brightly, recommencing his bouncing only on the spot this time, "Is this it? Is this where I go?" He peered around the door excitedly. "Oh! Look! They have a castle!"

And so they did, a large plastic castle with an assortment of little knights and stuffed princess dolls lying around it as though inviting him to play with them. Nearby was a painting isle with still untouched paints and paper sitting on it and next to that a wooden treasure chest overflowing with toys and clothes. There were tables and chairs and a large, thick carpet for circle time as well as drawings all over the walls. Children were already there, looking around some nervously, others with as much enthusiasm as him, picking up toys and studying everything... It looked like heaven to the boy in the dinosaur shorts.

"Yes Eric," his mother replied good-naturedly, "This is your classroom, now why don't you go have a look around while I talk to your new teacher, alright?"

The blond didn't need telling twice. "Okay!" he said brightly, hoping through the door and pelting into the room at top speed. He stopped in the very middle, arms held to the side in what must have seemed a rather penguin-like manner as he spun in slow circles trying to take it all in. "This is so cool!" he whispered to himself.

There was so much he hadn't seen from outside the room. A table against one wall had a little wooden airport set up on it, there was a cardboard stage for puppet shows and in one corner three girls sat together setting up a tiny farmyard. Out the window he could see a brightly coloured playground and against the back wall a single girl sat playing with a pile of...

"Dinosaurs!" he said excitedly, running towards the girl and sliding to a stop before her, "Can I please play with you and your dinosaurs?" he asked as calmly as he could, trying his best to remember his manners.

The girl stared up at him with huge brown eyes but did not say a word. She was slightly taller than him, as most girls were, with mousey brown hair cut short so it just brushed the tops of her ears and a shy smile. Her completion was pale and she was dressed neatly in a simple red dress and sneakers.

He stared back at her and there passed a moment of silence before he decided to try again. "Can I play with your dinosaurs?" he asked, pointing this time to get his point across.

The girl looked down at the toy in her hand and then glanced at the others littering the floor around her then very slowly, as though completely uncertain as to what she was doing, she held out a single dinosaur.

"Thanks!" Eric grinned happily and accepted the plastic figure, promptly making it roar loudly and run around on the carpeting before looking around the room, "Hey! We should make our dinosaurs go on an adventure!" he suggested brightly.

Again the girl looked confused, blinking those oversized dark eyes at him and staying silent. It was like she couldn't talk at all.

But Eric didn't mind, pointing had worked last time so he decided to try that again. "Our dinosaurs," he point at each toy in turn, "Should go on an adventure!" He gestured towards the castle he'd seen on his way in with an excited smile.

This time the girl returned the expression as a look of dawning comprehension worked its way on to her face. She nodded once and hopped to her feet, leading the way towards the aforementioned building with her dinosaur held out in front of her. Eric raced after her, jumping behind the castle and making his dinosaur climb all the way to the very top while the girl made hers crawl through the windows. They chased each other's figurine around the plastic structure for what felt like hours before a voice above them made Eric look up.

"Getting along well, I hope?" said a woman Eric vaguely recognised as their teacher but he was too busy watching the girl's dinosaur (who was trying to eat his) approaching from the side, to pay her much attention. The teacher chuckled and bent down in front of them, causing both children to finally stop playing. "Are we getting along?" she asked again.

"Yup," said Eric with a nod.

He glanced at his new friend to see if she would answer but she was silent once more. That is, until the teach did something strange and made a bunch of funny gestures with her hands. Then the girl moved, making the same gestures back and smiling happily.

"What are you doing?" Eric asked, confused.

The teacher smiled. "This is Katrina," she explained, "She's deaf."

If that was supposed to clarify anything for him, it didn't. "What's deaf mean?" he asked.

"It means she can't hear anything, so she talks with her hands instead. It's called Sign Language."

While that explanation was better, Eric was still confused. "She can't hear anything that all?" he asked and the teacher shook her head, "Wow..." There was a pause and then, "Can you tell her my name is Eric?"

The teacher smiled. "Of course," she said and promptly signed the message to the girl before her.

Katrina smiled. She pointed to herself and made a strange symbol above her head, like a hat she was lifting then pointed at him and clamped her fingers together like a dinosaur's jaws closing and laughed.

"Your names," the teacher explained with a chuckle.

Eric's eyes lit up. He had a new name, and one like a Dinosaur too! He grinned happily and copied the signs as best he could, making Katrina giggle softly but he didn't care. He had a new friend, he had a new name, and his dinosaurs was now close enough to eat Katrina's dinosaur. And it did.


	2. Retrograde Amnesia

**Retrograde Amnesia**

**Callen, Age 5**

It was his earliest memory, foggy and faded but refusing to leave him altogether. It was what came to mind when he forced himself to think back, to try and remember something, anything, from before... Before he became a nameless orphan alone in a world of forgotten children. Before his only reminder of the life he might have had was the first initial of that long lost name. Some days he had to wonder how much of it was real at all, but most of the time he knew that old and grainy as it may be it was very real and he wasn't sure if that made it better or worse.

It was a hospital, somehow even his five year old brain had realized that much within moments of opening his eyes, (the musty yellow of the walls and the rough blankets pulled up to his chest gave it away,) and he was very much alone. There was a funny pain in his hand where a needle pierced the skin and his nose itched from the tubes wedged inside. He did not understand; the machines, the room, the funny paint and unnaturally cold air being forced down his nose they were all completely foreign to him. But still he was not scared, though he didn't understand that either. He was alone and it was quiet and somehow that was okay with him.

But the quiet did not last long. The door opened and the sound entered in the form of a young nurse, all red curls piled high on her head, pushing a cart before her with a smile on her face. "Good morning, Sweetheart," she said kindly, leaving the cart in the corner of the room and moving to begin checking the machines and tubes and other strange creations which surrounded him, "How are you feeling?"

He tried to shrug but his shoulders hurt so he stopped and spoke instead, caught off guard by a quiet voice he did not recognize but knew must be his own. "I'm okay..."

The nurse's smile did not falter at the vagueness or half-hearted nature of his answer and she continued to work as cheerfully as before. "Does anything hurt? Maybe your shoulders or your tummy? Anything?" she asked him gently.

"Both," the boy answered softly, noticing for the first time a pain similar to that in his shoulders coming from his lower belly. He wondered if he should be worried. Was she going to ask him what happened? He didn't know if he could answer that, in fact he knew he couldn't. Maybe he should lie, she might be mad at him if he couldn't tell her...

"Your shoulders and your tummy?" the nurse clarified, pulling him from his thoughts as she slipped the hospital gown out of the way slightly to examine his tiny shoulder blades.

The child nodded silently, watching her work with an odd fascination. He didn't know what she was looking for but her poking hurt him. He whimpered slightly but quickly forced himself to fall silent hoping she hadn't noticed.

But she had and stopped her poking, frowning as she slid the garment back into place. "I'm sorry," she told him, "You have some bruises on your shoulders and your tummy, but it's okay, they'll go away soon." Lifting the blanket which had been covering him gently and setting it to one side she smiled up at him again. "I need to check on your tummy, Sweetheart, is that okay?"

Still uncertain about her reaction to his last protest he nodded quickly. "Yeah," he replied softly, "But it hurts..." He couldn't help the last part, it was true, her poking hurt and he didn't like it but he shouldn't have told her. Chewing his bottom lip slightly he turned away hoping she wouldn't get mad at him.

"I promise I'll be gentle," the nurse assured him, moving the gown out of the way again to examine the thick purple bruise which ran along his waist. "Sweetheart, I'm going to need to ask you some questions, okay?" she continued as she worked, looking up at the boy to judge his reaction. There was none. "It'll help us find your mommy and daddy so you can go home again." Again there was no response so she carried on. "What's your name, Sweetheart?"

It was only then that the boy moved, turning his head to stare at her a moment before managing a week shrug. "I donno," he murmured, feeling shame creep slowly into his mind and warmth spread across his cheeks. Because he didn't know, and try as he might to answer her question his world was a dark mass before the light of the hospital room. And just like that she shame was replaced with a wave of fright which passed over him as he realized that there was nothing to remember, "Why am I here?"

"You were in a car accident, Sweety," the nurse replied, "Your car fell into the river. Do you remember anything about that?"

The child shook his head. "Just quiet, then loud, then water... Then dark..." He began to tremble slightly, unable to stop it, and the nurse reached out and took his hands.

"It's okay. You'll remember everything in time. You were under water for a very long time and it hurt your head a little, when it gets better you'll remember," she told him with a confident smile. She squeezed his hands once more before standing up and making her way over to the cart and reaching under it, emerging a moment later with a battered old teddy bear in hand. "We found this with you," she told him returning to his side and holding it out, "You were holding it. It says G. Callen on it; do you know the name Callen?"

The boy shook his head sadly, taking the teddy from her and staring at it as though it could give him all the answers in the world. It was rather grungy looking, confirming easily that it had been underwater for a considerable period of time. An ear was missing and the fur, at one time fluffy and a soft brown, was now faded and stuck together making it rough against his small hands.

"What about G? Do you remember anyone with a name that started with G? Greg? Gary? George?"

Again the child shook his head and held the bear tighter to his chest, shaking once more. He couldn't answer. He didn't know, and he knew she didn't like it. He wanted to apologise, wanted to remember, something, anything, but try as he might nothing came. Just that same, empty darkness and he buried his head in the bear looking for some kind of comfort in its battered fur.

"Okay, that's okay," said the nurse quickly, giving him another gentle smile, "I have an idea. What if we call you G. Callen? Just until you remember everything? Is that okay?"

The boy raised his head, trying unsuccessfully to blink away the tears which had risen to his eyes. He sniffed weakly and considered her for a moment before nodding. "Okay," he whispered.

The woman beamed. "Good. Okay G, I have one more thing to show you then," she told him, pulling a photo out of her pocket as she spoke and holding it out for him to see, "We found her about nine days after your car crashed. She says she has a brother. Do you know her?"

It was the picture of a girl, a few years older than him with white blond hair and big blue eyes. She too was wearing a hospital gown and looked thin and sick, with dark bags throwing her otherwise childlike face into stark contrast. She wasn't smiling and her eyes looked sad, as though she was lost in the dark with no way out and no one to help her. Her hair was matted, hanging across her face and giving her an even more forlorn expression than her empty eyes alone could have ever done. She looked simply helpless.

But the boy, G. Callen now, shook his head. He wanted to know her, wanted to remember her but he didn't. He was alone. Like her. "I don't have a sister," he said softly.

"Alright," said the nurse, nodding as she slipped the photo away, "Thank you, G, you try and get some rest now." She stood and made to leave the room when a soft voice from behind her made her turn.

"Wait," said Callen shyly, holding out the teddy she had presented him earlier for her to take back.

"You keep it," she said with a sad smile, "It's yours."

And she left, leaving the boy to curl his arms around the only thing in this new, empty world that belonged to him.


	3. Beautiful Day

**Beautiful Day**

**Kensi, Age 5**

She would always remember it as a beautiful day with the sun shining down upon the pavement and the odd fluffy white cloud punctuating an otherwise clear blue sky. There were gulls squawking overhead, people laughing all around her and the other assorted noises that came with ocean front life buffeting her from all directions. And then there was the smell, the sour, salty smell of ocean that tickled her young nose and made her smile as if wafted to her, carried on the same gentle breeze which sent her curly pigtails dancing into her face.

She was dressed up today in a pretty sundress, as bright a yellow as the sun above, and her only good shoes and she knew what that meant. It meant she couldn't jump into puddles, or wade into the water in search of little fishies to take home in a jar, or kneel in the sand and go digging for crabs, or climb the first tree that struck her fancy. It meant she had to be a good girl and stay clean. But that was okay, she could do that if only because her daddy had asked her to in that gentle voice with the little smile that meant he would be oh so proud of her if she listened and she wanted him to be proud.

Her mummy was carrying her and making her tall, so tall that she could see over the people just like a grown up and see the ship at the end of the pier even with the crowd. Sometimes her daddy put her on his shoulders and let her be even taller, maybe her mummy could try that?

"Mummy! Mummy!" she said brightly, twisting around in her mother's arms to grin at her, "Can I sit on your shoulders, Mummy? Please? Please?"

Her mother laughed and shook her head. "You're getting too big for that, Kensi," she answered, "You know that. You're too heavy."

"Daddy can still do it," Kensi pouted, folding her arms across her chest.

"Daddy is bigger than me," her mother chuckled, "Why don't you look at the ship, alright? Daddy should be coming out any minute to say goodbye."

Still not entirely pleased but knowing better than to argue too much the little girl returned her attention to the ship which was now directly in front of them. They had made their way to the very front of the crowd and the massive steel haul of the ship seemed to rise above her head forever and ever.

"When I grow up, I wanna go on a big boat like this too!" she told her mother, still staring up at it in awe.

"Ship, Kensi, it's a ship."

And there he was, tall and smiling brighter than even the sun above, her daddy. His dark hair was neatly groomed beneath his cover, uniform pressed and hanging perfectly on his athletic frame and his eyes, matching in colour to the lighter of his daughter's, were twinkling happily.

"Daddy!" Kensi squealed, holding out her arms in her childish excitement.

Laughing at her antics her father obliged, taking her from her mother's arms and lifting her high about his head. "You look beautiful, Baby Girl, like a little princess," he told her gently.

Kensi wrinkled her nose. "I don't wanna be a princess," she complained.

Her father chuckled. "Alright then, what if you're just pretending to be a princess, but you're not really?"

"And I can sail on a really big ship like you?" Kensi prompted, her imagination already getting the best of her. A fake princess sneaking aboard bad ships and stealing all their guns, laughing at them when they woke up and found out...

"Absolutely, you'll be the best fake princess ever," her father grinned, "Maybe I can be your sidekick?"

The young girl beamed. "Okay!"

Her mother was laughing now, shaking her head but smiling all the same. "Alright you two, enough with the planning. Daddy's got to get to work now or the ship's going to leave without him."

Kensi pouted again and was about to complain when her father pressed a kiss onto her forehead, looking suddenly sad. "You behave yourself now, Baby Girl, and take care of your mom for me, alright?" he told her seriously, "I'll see you both as soon as I can."

Confused by his sudden change in temperament the girl leaned forward and kissed his cheek, smiling brightly at him in hopes he would return it. "Okay Daddy," she told him earnestly, "I can do that."

And she did get a smile as the father chuckled softly and hugged her tightly. "I love you, Kensi," he said softly, before handing her back to her mother.

"Love you too, Daddy!" said Kensi happily, before turning away and squealing in disgust as her parents kissed each other goodbye. "That's yucky!" she told them sternly, earning herself a kiss from her mother and a laugh from her father.

"Our apologies, Princess Kensi," her father teased and the girl stuck her tongue out at him.

"I'm not a princess," she reminded him folding her arms again.

He laughed and gave a little bow, followed by a wave as he made his way back towards the ship. "I love you both," he called as he left, "I'll see you very soon."

And Kensi waved along with her mother as her father disappeared within the steel walls, laughed as men emerged to release it from port looking tiny compared to its massive frame and dreamed of a day when she too could sail on something so big. As it slipped away from the dock with a grace nothing of that size should have been able to manage the men aboard it appeared on deck to wave one last time at their families gathered below and the child bounced up and down in her mother's arms as she grinned at her father, who stood in the center looking every bit the soldier she wanted to be.

They returned home and Kensi was still laughing, visions of her older self playing around her head as only children can manage, dressed as a princess who was dressed as a Marine and never ever loosing at anything. It would be almost a week before she realized that this time was different than when her daddy went to work at the office on base.


	4. Snow Day

_**Author's Note:**_

_Hetty's history has been the hardest for me to keep canon, if only because the most we ever heard about it came in a situation where I'm not convinced she was telling the truth. I'm talking, of course, about the conversation with Ale__xa Comescu in the episode Familia. __So, until the show clears things up, I'm going to stick with my version (which truthfully could fit with what we know, if it turns out to be the truth.)_

* * *

**Snow Day**

**Hetty, Age 8**

The snow drifts crunched beneath her feet, heavy flakes working their way through the frozen branches of the trees around her and landing on the cream coloured wool of her homemade toque as she forced her way through the undergrowth. Long, dark hair emerged from the depth of the loose stitching and hung in two straight pigtails over her shoulders, the tips dancing every now and then as a frigid gust of wind hit her face. It was hard to believe that Christmas was still over a month away. Storms were already rocking the region and Hetty had to wonder how much longer she would be able to make this walk without ending up like the snowmen she often stopped to make. Of course, asking her father for a ride to school was out of the question. He was a man of routine, not one to change things up particularly for a whining daughter, and her mother couldn't drive.

The truth of the matter was, much as she might have taken a warm car and shelter form the never ending snow were it offered, she rather enjoyed this walk. It was one of those rare moments in the life of an eight year old girl when she was alone, away from the disapproving eyes of adults whose job it was to shape her or her peers whose job it was to ridicule her. It was just her. Just Hetty. Just knobbly knees and pointed elbows buried beneath layers of clothing and engaging in a sort of hand to hand combat with the snow. Just dark eyes framed by thick glasses which gazed upwards constantly at a world so much taller than her. Sometimes she hated being so small.

A sudden pain flared in her toe as she tumbled forward into a particularly large snow drift. Uttering a curse word her father did not know she'd overheard she scrambled back to her feet before her clothes could be soaked by the snow and pushed some of it aside to reveal the cause of her fall, a large rock fully buried in the white ice. Her older sisters told her regularly that she was an accident waiting to happen for such things were a common occurrence in her life. Tripping over a concealed rock was actually one of the less exciting incidents on her record. Her mother often took her siblings' teasing further, correcting them by stating that she was actually an accident which had already happened. If they had been kidding the joke would have been quite funny.

Straightening her toque Hetty gave herself a quick once-over, searching for any marks which might have been the result of her fall. Mother would be furious if she came home dirty again. To her great surprise considering her usual luck, she found only a small drop of mud on her cream coloured stockings and rubbed it away quickly with her fingers. She could clean it properly once she got home.

"Hey!" came a boy's voice from down the path, "It's little Hetty the Small!"

The girl's head snapped up but she regretted the decision instantly as a mass of packed snow collided with her face, rendering her blind as it dripped off her glasses.

"Get the midget!" another voice yelled.

Ducking wildly she managed to avoid another wave of flying snow and crawled on her hands and knees (painfully aware of the condition in which this behaviour would leave her clothes) until her hands met the rough bark of a nearby tree. Using the plant as cover she pulled her knees up to her chest and removed her glasses, rubbing at them half-heartedly as she listening to the boys' laughter buffeting her from every side. She didn't need to see them to know who it was, their laughter alone gave that away. It didn't take long to learn a laugh if it accompanied daily ridicule.

They were a few years older than her for the most part, almost twelve in the case of their leader, like her middle sister Lorraine with whom he was good friends. Her mother and father loved him, but then they loved most things Lorraine brought home, Hetty thought sourly. She, on the other hand, did not love him, nor did she like him, nor did she see any point to his existence other than to make her life miserable. But he was tall, dark and wealthy and that was all anyone cared.

"Hetty's a little chicken! Hetty's a little chicken!" The boys were chanting now, their voices high pitched to imitate that of a girl, "Hetty's a little chicken crying behind a tree!"

"I am not!" Hetty snapped, her voice wavering slightly much to her disgust. Her glasses were still streaked and her cheek stung where the snowball had hit it. The boys could throw hard.

"Come out and prove it then, Hetty the Small!" their leader, Richard Woods, laughed, "You're not lying to us are you, Hetty the Small?"

Behind the frigid shelter of the tree Hetty was shivering. She was beginning to think maybe she would ask her father for rides to school after all, even one of his lectures would be better than this. Still she wasn't afraid of the boys and she certainly was not crying. She was proud to say that she didn't cry like the others girls and hadn't since her oldest sister Marjorie dropped a plate and it broke on her foot what she was six. It was that thought which caused her eyes to narrow, she was not Hetty the Small, she was Hetty Lange and Hetty Lange did not cry and she did not get scared and she most certainly did not hide from boys!

With newfound confidence she stood up, put her glasses back on and scooped up an armful of snow. If the boys wanted her to come out and prove she wasn't crying then she would do just that. Her first snowball collided with the nose of the boy nearest to her as she ran out into the open, her second caught Richard in the arm and the third met with the stomach of the boy furthest away. The sheer shock on their faces was so hilarious that Hetty found herself laughing and she ran between them, forcing her now-soaked frame through the snow drifts as fast as she could. The laughter turned almost hysterical as she pelted down the path, the sound of boys shouting behind her driving her onwards as snowballs flew passed dangerously close to her ears.

They must have been quite a sight, three boys sprinting and shouting in hot pursuit of a tiny, sodden girl. Snow flew in all directions as Hetty turned to return their fire sporadically, all four of them pausing to gather more snow when needed. In their childish way none of the boys seemed to consider that by simply catching the girl they could rain their frozen weapon on her freely and for that she was grateful. The last thing she needed was more grime on her once-clean clothing.

The show did not stop flying even as they entered the city limits. Here the drifts which slowed their trek through the trees had been scraped off the streets by some hardworking men but still a thick layer of ice sent Hetty's feet dancing in all directions as she made to cross the road. Waving her arms to avoid her second face plant of the day she managed to reach the other side and seized another armful of snow, but this pause finally cost her as one of Richard's snowballs collided hard with the back of her head. Stars flashes before her eyes and she shook soggy bits of ice out of her hair as the boys moved in before she had regained her bearings. Snow could be very painful.

"Crying yet, Hetty the Small?" Richard mocked in a singsong voice, as his friends sent of barrage of snowballs bouncing off her back and shoulders, "Come on now, Midget, you crying yet?"

Hetty shook her head once more her vision slightly blurred by, to her disgust, tears. But they weren't falling so that didn't count! She would not cry, not even when her head was throbbing and her cheek still singing and her entire body trembling with cold. Hetty Lange did not cry. "No!" she snapped angrily, clenching her fingers around the snow now dripping in her arms, "You're going to cry!"

Richard started to laugh, he started to turn to his friends and invite them to join in, he started in to his 'Hetty is a chicken' song, started but did not finish. A single snowball collided with his face, several rocks just visible amongst the white. Shock overtook the boy's face and he raised a hand to the spot just below his eye where a red welt was already forming. "You little..." he growled.

Hetty took this as her cue to start running again.


	5. Chicken Bliss

**Chicken Bliss**

**Nate, Age 10**

They had always taught him never to lie. Always tell the truth, they'd told him, no matter what and people will do the same to you. They'd lied. His parents were liars. A sudden bump in the road sent his forehead bouncing off the passenger side window and he frowned slightly, rubbing the point of impact as his thoughts scrambled back to their original positions. No, that wasn't right, his parents weren't lairs, he didn't have parents, not anymore. He had a father, a father who had been lied to just like him, and a mother who no longer mattered.

"How about some music, Nate?" his father asked calmly, his voice floating over from the driver's seat.

Anger reddened within the boy and he pressed his now-sore forehead back against the glass. "She took all the albums with her," he muttered, his voice icy beyond his years, "We have no music. She took everything."

"Nonsense," the elder Getz replied lightly, turning a dial on the radio as he did so, "That so-called 'modern music' is hardly worth listening to."

Nate rolled his eyes but remained silent, staring instead out the window as his father's symphonic music hummed in the background. He felt as though he was trapped in some kind of time capsule, dragging him away from everything he'd ever known with every bump in the road and throwing him into the world of the books his father had once tried to read to him. His mother, no, 'She,' had told his father that reading wasn't something young boys did and signed him up for sports instead. And now 'She' was gone and those stupid books were coming to life and he had to live them.

The landscape flashing past them was not something Nate had ever seen before; a childhood spent within the city of Los Angeles meant that the dirt roads and grassy fields which made up the farms of Northern California were completely new to him, and completely unwanted. There were chores on a farm, and work and his stupid, old grandparents and there were definitely no sports or friends or TV. But 'She' had taken the house, and the good car (the one that didn't tick like some oversized egg-timer and smell of gasoline,) and the yard and his friends and his sports and the city and everything else he liked because 'She' was a lair and he hated her.

He hated his father too, for being too stupid to see 'She' was lying and for having parents who lived on a farm and still loved him even though they were old and who had never lied to him. He hated himself for ever trusting 'Her,' for ever loving 'Her' and for being as stupid as his father, but mostly he hated his life.

"Ah, there it is," said his father with a content sigh and a smile, gesturing out over the steering wheel towards the horizon, "The Getz family home."

"We don't have a family," Nate muttered moodily, turning his head to glare out over the dashboard, "And that isn't home."

'That' was an aging farmhouse, built entirely out of weather-beaten wood which had at one time been painted some kind of off-white. The paint was faded now, looking worse for wear than even the wood, chipping and pealing so entire patched were left bare. The wraparound porch, which stretched along the front of the house and disappeared around the corner, seemed to have been made with the same wood as the rest of the building and its condition had deteriorated in much the same way leaving it rickety and looking as though one good gust of wind would finish it off.

As they turned down the long and winding driveway Nate caught sight of a herd of cows standing in a paddock to one side, chewing idly as they drove past and seemingly unfazed by the plums of dust rising from the tires. When at last they came to a stop and the dust clouds settled down, the boy flung open his door and was promptly greeted by several large chickens that were milling around. The feathered creatures made a beeline for him the moment his shoes touch the dirt and he recoiled with a yelp of fear as one of the birds made to peck at his shoelaces.

"Don't mind them," came a gravelly voice from beyond the car, causing Nate to freeze in the motion of giving the offending chicken a good kick, "Little fellars just ain't used to seeing anything quite so white that ain't dried corn."

The boy glanced down at his feet in disgust. "My shoes do not look like dried corn, they're my best shoes!" he exclaimed, outraged, "And that stupid thing was gonna bite them!"

"Nate," said his father in his usual voice of undying calm which was so like the one which had spoken before, if only slightly less rough, "That's no way to greet your grandfather, or his chickens. Apologize to all of them and try again, please."

Nate glowered but bit back a scathing remark and said stiffly, "I'm sorry Grandpa and Grandpa's chickens."

"Thank you, Nate," his Grandfather replied, while his father beamed in the background, "And your apology's been accepted, by me at least, the girls here might need some more convincing." Reaching into the pocket of his denim overalls – which were the only visible difference besides age between the farmer and his son – the older man removed a handful of dried corn and held it out to his grandson. "This outta do the trick," he smiled.

Nate eyed the food suspiciously but thought better of disrespecting his host twice in their first five minutes together and held out his hands, trying very hard not to wince or appear nervous as he lowered them to chicken-height. The birds, apparently unable to hold a grudge against anyone offering food, dived on him and began pecking away in obvious, chicken bliss. Nate did not join them.


	6. Rattle, Rattle

_**Author's Note:**_

_I just watched 'The Gold Standard' today (I'm really late, I know, I have so much catching up to do…) and I have to say, I really enjoyed it. To my mind it was one of the best episodes for a while, perhaps because it was about solving a crime without all the annoying romantic subtext. In any case, while I do hope Deeks is back next episode, I would also like to see the show return to this style. Just my two cents. _

_The best thing to come out of that episode, however, was this sudden, vicious plot bunny, who absolutely insisted that I write it down. It's short, very short, but this is where the plot bunny went and I just followed it blindly. It's not what I first had in mind, nor does it really go with the summary and it's far shorter than I'd envisioned but who cares, I kinda like it anyway. _

_For those of you who are wondering, I really like Granger. Maybe that makes me strange but he's my favourite character on the show right now, he's just so interesting._

* * *

**Rattle, Rattle**

**Granger, Age 8**

Early in life, Owen Granger discovered the secret to success. In the depth of Pennsylvania's wilderness, surrounded by boys of all ages and while the camp leaders were busy organizing dinner he got his first taste of power. It was the rattlesnakes that gave him the idea. Their first day of camp was punctuated by the distinctive rattling warning and while everyone followed the leaders' instructions and the snake slithered harmlessly away into the bushes the group remained unsettled and watchful. The children stuck together in groups of two or three, the leaders checked each tent before allowing its residents were allowed to enter for the night and all this, the boy realized, because of a simple rattle. The snake had done nothing but put them all on edge, but that was more than enough.

So, that fateful evening as they awaited their meal, young Owen made his move. He distanced himself from the others quietly, ducked inside the tent he shared with another boy named Keith and sat down on his sleeping bag with a smirk. If all went according to plan he wouldn't be spending another night listening to his tent-mate's snores. He waited a few moments before affixing a look of fear on to his face and bolting out into the sunlight with a cry.

"Owen?" One of the camp leaders was by his side in a heartbeat, squatting down and resting a hand on his charge's shoulder in what he clearly thought was a comforting gesture, "What happened?"

"I thought I saw a snake in my tent," the boy replied breathlessly, widening his eyes for effect.

The adults in the group shared a quick look and the man still gripping Granger's shoulder nodded towards the tent, sending the remaining two in search of the reptile without a word. Still, the commotion was beginning to attract the other boys, a nervous whispering breaking out among them as the rumours began.

"Owen saw a snake in his tent!"

"It was one of those rattlesnakes!"

"It was in his sleeping bag!"

"I think it tried to bite him!"

"No way!"

"Yeah, and it chased him right out of the tent!"

"That's enough, boys," their leader said sharply, removing his hand from Owen's shoulder and standing up to give them all a stern look, "You all know better than to exaggerate like that, now go sit down for dinner please, there's nothing to see here."

A general groan of displeasure resonated from the assorted youth but they followed the instruction all the same, making their way towards the large wooden picnic table in the middle of their camp sight and taking their seats. Granger, who had followed the group quickly, made certain to take a seat next to Keith. It was just a matter of time now…

"Hey Owen?" Sure enough, his tent-mate turned to him almost the moment they sat down, "Was there really a snake in our tent?"

Granger shrugged. "I think so, I mean, it looked like a snake. It went under the sleeping bags," he lied.

Keith shivered. "I don't like snakes," he said fearfully, "What if it bites us?"

"Nothing's going to bite any of you." All three of the camp leaders had arrived, and the one who'd sent them to sit at the table addressed the group calmly, "There's nothing in Owen and Keith's tent, we checked everywhere."

"But I saw – " Granger started, trying hard not to smile. Really, this was easier than he'd thought it would be.

"Whatever you saw is gone now," their leader continued, "It's completely safe."

Keith raised his hand. "I don't want to sleep in our tent," he said shyly, "What if the snake's still in there?"

"It's not, we checked – "

"But what if it's hiding?"

The three leaders exchanged a look. "Alright, if you'd prefer to sleep in another tent, I'm sure that can be arranged…"

And that night, as he stretched out in his blissfully quiet and empty tent, Owen knew. Sometimes you just need to keep people on edge, looking over their shoulder for something that may or may not be there, and you can get exactly what you want. He closed his eyes with a smile. It was his very own rattle…


End file.
